


the minor fall, the major lift

by keigeyama



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, M/M, Relationship Study, Shippy Gen, an excuse to write for the golden duo disguised as a character study, meta disguised as fic, read: a mess, there is about seven percent tsukkikage in here somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keigeyama/pseuds/keigeyama
Summary: There is almost always something to be said about him on the court: how very tall and very smart and how very much of a force to be reckoned with he is. People like to write his skills off as talent, but most of it is Kei's competitive streak, coming into play. A small fraction of it is experience: years of watching his brother practice in their backyard, lazy weekends spent curled up on the sofa watching old volleyball videos, defensive postures and tactics once ingrained in his muscle memory.
  The truth is: most days, Kei's not even sure he particularly likes volleyball. Mostly, he regards it with a detached sort of fondness, a vague sort of appreciation that's born out of something approaching childhood wistfulness. Volleyball is less of a dream and more of a case of tenacity: he's as good as he is because it's a trade he's learned early; it's been bred into him young. 
There are many reasons why, even after all this time, Kei still chooses to play volleyball.





	

**Author's Note:**

> okay so. this fic is lots and lots and lots of tsukki introspection (because i love him that much), some karasuno gen (because there really isn't nearly enough) and about 7% tsukkikage (because im always a sucker for these dumb angry boyfriends)
> 
> also: i swear this was supposed to be gen but this ended up shippier than i intended

**9.**

There is always a moment when they're standing on the courts, just before a toss, where Kei will tilt his head to spare a glance in Kageyama's direction. It is not so much as a loss of concentration as it is the sharpening of his attention—after all, Kageyama, for all their head-on collisions and less than friendly banter, has become a solid grounding presence on and off the court—and it, Kei admits with great reluctance, becomes something of a habit.

Of course: he's hit more than enough of Kageyama's tosses for it to be any sort of novel experience. He's learned to anticipate when it comes—and if it's meant for him. He's grown accustomed to the way Kageyama moves; has learned to read the infliction behind the tilt of his head, at the slight quirk of his brow. That thought alone used to be disconcerting—he used to shrug it off. Now though, it feels familiar and—not that he'd ever admit it—almost like the easiest thing in the world.

Like now—across the net, Kei can hear their opponent inhale sharply; Karasuno is two points away from taking the third set. Beside him, Kageyama is still, expression carefully blank, but when he looks at Kei the way he does now, his gaze is sharp and focused, unwavering in the way Kageyama has always been on the court. They are alight with something he can't quite discern, but the message in them could not have been clearer had Kageyama actually leaned in closer to him and asked outright: _Are you with me?_

Moron, Kei thinks, even as he jumps forward to hit the toss, faintly aware of the crowd's delighted roars and watches, rapt, as the ball cuts cleanly from where it connected with his palm—

And into the opponent's court.

The crowd erupts; Kageyama looks like the sea just swept through him. He blinks and offers a sharp jerk of his chin. Kei nods back, and smirks. Hard.

As if he even needed to ask.

**5.**

The aftermath of Akiteru's betrayal comes to him in bits and pieces, like some disjointed part of him he'd forgotten he still had. It strikes him at the most inconvenient of times and, even though it's been years since it happened, still paints a dull ache in his chest that he tries his best to ignore.

It hadn't been easy, is what he thinks on occasion. _On_ occasion—because he'd never been one for much introspection, had never been one for looking back on lost causes. Akiteru had lied to him; this is equal parts lonely and unforgivable and yet—

Memory, because it is a cruel thing, reminds him: that for all his pent-up anger and resentment towards his brother, some things remain: Kei had still grown up eating the same food as Akiteru, and had listened to the same music as Akiteru and—although it had pained him during those early moments of learning how to handle a ball again—still ended up playing the same sport as Akiteru.

Akiteru was his best friend, is what Kei remembers the most.

Another thing he remembers: the day he'd found out the truth, something in his gut had clenched, part anger and part disappointment, like he'd reached out for something but his fingers curled around nothing but empty air. And it's not that Akiteru hadn't tried to apologize—because he did. It's just that: Kei is self-aware enough to recognize himself as someone who's versatile—someone who is quick to learn and quick to think and quick to tire of things. But one thing he had never been, was quick to forgive.

Not everything Kei remembers about volleyball had been pleasant. But, a hundred matches, eleven new teammates and one broken finger later, he reflects: not everything had been about pain either.

**8.**

The third years are gone now but they leave legends in their wake. Tanaka and Nishinoya take great pleasure in feeding the freshmen all sorts of things, effectively adding _more_ to the rumor mill—and contributing to Ennoshita's continuous string of headaches.

There's always been much to be said about Karasuno's volleyball club even before they edged the top team in the Miyagi prefecture out of the competition. They had always been the subject of attention—the inevitability of their reckless and antics and raw talent—but gossip in general holds little interest for Kei; he's terrible at these kinds of things. Still though, for all that he doesn't keep up with the rumors, Kei finds that some things impossible not to overhear.

Like: how the students _swear_ that Sugawara was in a movie once—he's too pretty to be unnoticed by talent scouts—and left the industry because of a contract gone bad, and: how they like to whisper among themselves that it's impossible that Asahi, for all his gentleness and careful kindness, has not accidentally hospitalized an opponent with the ferocity of his spikes and: how Kageyama, in all his sixteen years of living, has never learned to smile.

The last one is a rumor Tanaka does his best to spread around—and one Kageyama hasn't done anything to successfully negate. If anything, he's only proved them right further. They're wrong, though; Kei has seen Kageyama smile in a number of impractical moments in the past: on the ride home after winning a particularly grueling match; when he finally finishes his drills for the day; when he gets the trig formulas for a particular assignment right.

Another thing Kei has seen: Kageyama's smiles transform his face from something severe into, well, something else.

The real rumors, though, are rooted in other things. After all: Kageyama will always be known as the king of the court, prodigy in volleyball, and one of Karasuno's greatest athletes. Part of it is innate talent, a nature secondary to breathing; a bigger portion of it, Kei knows, is him staying up in the dark of the night; him still standing in an already emptied court, just a little longer after everyone had left, tossing balls and perfecting his serves until bruises bloomed on his forearms, sending ball after ball into the air and slamming each of them down with pinpoint accuracy that should not have been possible for anyone to deliver given the sheer force of the impact.

The catch here—because Kei knows that there is always a price to be paid for everything—is that Kageyama is not very well-received or even well-liked among his peers. But Kei had understood, over time, why people respected Kageyama in skill, if not in personality. He'd come to understand the latter too, eventually.

There's never been any shortage of gossip when it comes to Kageyama, and although it's never been Kei's place to meddle, he's learned—he _knows_ none of them have ever come close to the truth.

So when Ennoshita begs him to pacify the freshmen, Kei only has this to say:

The only true rumor is that Karasuno never falters when they play. Everything else outside the court is a different story altogether.

**1.**

Kageyama Tobio is a name Kei hears of long before he steps foot at Karasuno. 

The first volleyball match Kei watches since Akiteru's betrayal—it's an accident. There's fifteen minutes into the match when he and Yamaguchi pass by the local gym on their usual route home and Kei makes it five steps before he realizes Yamaguchi has lagged behind to stop in front of the gym's entrance, tilting his head back at Kei in an unspoken question and a smile bordering half on expectant and half on apologetic.

"'No," Kei protests, almost immediately, but it does nothing to rid of the hand closed firmly around his wrist, and so Kei has no choice but to let Yamaguchi tug him out of the muggy outdoor humidity and into the excited hum of the audience, the cool darkness of the stands.

What happens is this: Kei's just stepped into his seat when he glances at the court in time to see a dark-haired boy toss the ball into a high, clean arc to the teammate closest to him who, after just barely catching it, slams the ball cleanly into the opponent's court. Kei thinks, belligerently, that he must have been staring too openly, because the next thing he knows—

"That’s Kageyama Tobio," Yamaguchi offers, although Kei hadn't asked. "He’s the team's official setter. And," Yamaguchi says, smiles a little when he tilts his head, "he's our age".

Under any other circumstances, Kei would be impressed. Except: the last time he did this, he'd been disappointed. He hadn't stepped outside to play volleyball since, has not felt the call of the court in a long while. He had, in all honestly, thought he had fallen out of touch with sport, but watching the teams play now, it's harder to forget that he used to want to do that, too. It makes him wonder how they must feel, to stand where he used to (though he never played this seriously), if the ball feels heavy with more than just the air that keeps it inflated. Mostly, Kei's mind wanders off for most of the match, but occasionally he'll find himself glowering at Kageyama's hands, at the tense set of his shoulders, at the shadows of his stance.

Kageyama, Kei notes, is all dark-hair and subtle anger and quiet leonine grace. He's tall for someone their age—not that Kei's one to talk, really—and, even before he scores the final, deciding point for each set, Kei can easily tell that he's unfairly talented. 

Another thing Kei can tell from just looking: there is a clear divide between the boy and his team, a weird sort of tension that could easily be mistaken for isolation. Something about the scene makes something spread throughout Kei's chest; he can't figure out if he's upset or if the feeling something else, only that it's familiar—and there's a lot of it.

"He's ridiculous," Kei says when it's all over, only reluctantly impressed. Listening to the audience's whispers about the dark-haired setter's undeniable, if over-abundant talent, there's not much Kei can say about Kageyama Tobio that hasn't already been said. He turns towards Yamaguchi, says, lightly, "Hey, didn't you say you owed me a trip to the bakery after this?"

"Oh, right. Sorry," Yamaguchi laughs, dimpling up at him. He starts forward, one hand at the back of his neck, the other tucked into his pocket, already looting around for spare change. "What did you think of the game anyway, Tsukki?"

"A waste of time," Kei says, but he turns back to spare a glance at the courts, at the retreating back of the raven-haired boy lit golden by the last remnants of the afternoon sun, and remembers: Kageyama Tobio.

 

**3.**

With volleyball eating up more of his time than he's used to, it takes Kei three months to settle into a new routine. It's a grueling sort of adjustment, even for someone as versatile as him, and it's halfway through class one day when he realizes a few things: first, it's easier to lie to yourself about something when you've made yourself believe it and second, the latter's not realization enough to get rid of the urge to skip practice. 

He still goes, of course, even though he can list at least eleven other things he'd rather be doing, but he's stood on courts long enough to know that part of being an athlete—more so than the gut instinct to move, the resilience—is the obligation. Kei has never claimed interest to be part of his reasons for sticking around.

Most people wouldn't know it, though, from the way he played. There is almost always something to be said about him on the court: how very tall and very smart and how very much of a force to be reckoned with he is. People like to write his skills off as talent, but most of it is Kei's competitive streak, coming into play. A small fraction of it is experience: years of watching his brother practice in their backyard, lazy weekends spent curled up on the sofa watching old volleyball videos, defensive postures and tactics once ingrained in his muscle memory. 

The truth is: most days, Kei's not even sure he particularly _likes_ volleyball. Mostly, he regards it with a detached sort of fondness, a vague sort of appreciation that's born out of something approaching childhood wistfulness. Volleyball is less of a dream and more of a case of tenacity: he's as good as he is because it's a trade he's learned early; it's been bred into him young.

And if there are whispers about his obvious disinterest, his lack of effusiveness, Kei supposes he can add _committed _to the list of things he's never going to become.__

__Because the way he sees it—the way he's always seen it: it's just a club._ _

__**4.** _ _

__The thing about being teammates with people as affectionate as Nishinoya and Hinata and someone as maternal as Suga is that you get used to the idea of privacy existing on a purely conceptual basis pretty quickly. Another inevitability is being ambushed with poorly-planned sleepovers disguised as study sessions and late night trips to convenience stores._ _

__"Are we done?" Kei asks, impatiently, because Hinata's already loaded him with potato chips and three different kinds of sodas and all sorts of things that aren't healthy—Kei's not even sure they're allowed to eat half of it, if Ukai had a say in anything—and they should have been back thirty minutes ago._ _

__"In a minute," Kageyama says, wandering down the aisles, hands tucked into his pockets as he browses through the racks. He comes back after ten, something small and pink and wrapped up neatly in his hands. He has the decency to look abashed when Kei raises an eyebrow, at least._ _

__"I—" he begins, and then stops. Something like irritation flashes in Kageyama's eyes, but it looks too muted to be even that. If anything, he looks exasperated, almost bashful. Before Kei can think of it any futher, Kageyama turns away. "This is—it's yours"._ _

__Kei blinks, but it doesn't rid him of the handful of strawberry shortcake, which Kageyama had all but thrust into his hands. There is something warm and insistent tugging at his chest and the feeling remains even after he's tried to shrug it off. "Yamaguchi, I presume"._ _

__A beat of silence, and then: "Well, no," Kageyama says, more to the floor than Kei. He scratches the back of his neck, a move Kei has come to recognize as an uncharacteristic show of nervousness. "You mentioned it before. During lunch"._ _

__There is a brief irrational moment where the warmth in Kei's chest intensifies and he almost doesn't succeed in pushing it down. "Not as dumb as you look after all," Kei says, and then, begrudgingly: "Thank you," and after a beat: "We're not friends"._ _

__Kageyama rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch upwards involuntarily—the first time he'd almost smiled at Kei in all the time they've come to know each other._ _

__"Don't I know it," Kageyama says, already walking towards the counter where Hinata is waiting, but his voice it lacks its usual heat; he sounds almost grateful, if anything. Kei is left staring at his retreating back, cast half in shadow, half in moonlight that is spilling through the windows. He is surprised to find that the space where Kageyama's fingers had touched is warm._ _

__The thing is: things, they mean something, Kei has always known. Numbers mean something. The unspoken promise his brother made and then broke once meant something. And volleyball has always been everything. Every spike, every block, every hour he spent standing on the court the product of years of practice and devotion to the sport his brother taught him to love._ _

__And this team, they mean something too. It's not that he's learned to love them—because he hasn't. It's just that—_ _

__(There is a difference between brothers bound by choice and brothers rooted in blood, but they are your brothers all the same. That's what Akiteru had said, and Akiteru was never wrong. Akiteru had never lied to him about anything _before—_ )_ _

__It's such a relief not to be alone anymore._ _

__**2.** _ _

__When Kei goes to Karasuno for volleyball tryouts and ends up thinking about his brother during the second set against the third years, he tries to gloss over the part where Akiteru let him down and thinks about this instead:_ _

__"You could be good at this, you know," says Akiteru. He takes a long swig from his water bottle, and tilts his head to look at Kei before sending the ball his way. "Better than me, even"._ _

__"Don't be ridiculous," Kei smirks, much like the way Akiteru does. He sends the ball back in one clean receive and watches as it sails past his brother’s hands, just a little out of reach. "Like that's hard"._ _

__Akiteru had laughed right then, eyes creasing at the corners the same way Kei's do. He's been told that it's easy to tell—in the gold of their eyes, a certain brand intelligence; and in the subtle uptick at the corner of their mouths—that Akiteru is his brother, his family, in more than just blood._ _

__I'm sure you'd make me proud, Akiteru had said afterwards, but that was then, and so Kei thinks nothing of it further. There are more pressing matters at hand after all._ _

__Behind the net, the one who'd introduced himself as Tanaka—second-year, his mind supplies briefly; there hadn't been enough people—smiles at him, all teeth. "Say, we can take it easy, if you've had enough. Just say the word"._ _

__Kei actually has had enough, except—he's never been one to back down early; he's sure an answer is written in his eyes, all over his face, but the ball's in motion all of a sudden, following a clean upward arc before curving down in his direction. And so—_ _

__Kei doesn't think. Just bends his knees the way Akiteru taught him, braces his arms for impact and moves._ _

__There's an ache in his chest when he sends the next ball flying. The way it cuts cleanly into the third years' side of the court, the way it slips past their reach the way it did Akiteru all those years back, the way it leaves a dull hum that's perceptible only to Kei's ears in its wake—it's familiar. It's practiced. It's muscle memory, born out of watching his brother practice and playing beside him for far too many years._ _

__There are many reasons why, even after all this time, Kei still chooses to play volleyball._ _

__Love, isn't one of them. Maybe._ _

__**6.** _ _

__Some things come to him easily, like witty comebacks and history and math. But the big secret is sometimes Kei doesn't know if he has anything to show for other than his intelligence._ _

__It's less of insecurity and more of a fluctuating awareness, a nagging flicker of doubt: Hinata's always been the loudest on the courts, startlingly bright in a way that has nothing to do with the orange of his hair. Yamaguchi smiles the same way he always has, but it does nothing to make the strength in his hands any less noticeable. Yachi has always been there, to worry about them, to pull them back when they've gone too far, to keep them pushing onwards. And Kageyama—Kageyama has always been the same old: startlingly infuriatingly brilliant, a quiet commanding presence and a steady fixture on and off the courts._ _

__Kei, on the other hand, for as long as he can remember, was good at taking things apart. Deconstructing something was part of its analysis, and so when it came to studying or reading into a conversation or figuring a person out, it became less of a habit and more of a second nature to Kei to break things down._ _

__The bigger picture, Kei learned early, is comprised of smaller events that lead up to it. If you can figure out a play before it happens, you're bound to figure out how it works. It's the same thing with chemical compounds, long division, mathematical induction. Simple lock picking, being locked out of an account, untangling knots. The trick is figuring out the heart of things, where it can go wrong, what keeps it ticking. The fact of the matter is: Kei understands the simple truth of things, what drives a person to move—simple mechanisms._ _

__And the truth behind him: inadequacy; his life thrums to the urgent rhythm of it. There is someone he should catch up to, but can't. It didn't take much deconstruction on his part to figure that out._ _

__The point is, sometimes, only sometimes, Kei knows there's nothing special about him. Often, he thinks about giving up; wonders if it had been easy for Akiteru to leave everything behind, if his hands shook as he packed his bags and left without ever turning back. Sometimes, Kei wonders if the crows like him much—if they do at all. He'd been awful to them, in the beginning, had been terrible to Hinata and Kageyama, and yet—_ _

__For all that they've put up with him, Kei still wonders, sometimes, how much they would mind if he left, if they would mind at all, but he pushes the thought away as quickly as it comes. He's been a crow long enough to find his answer. He knows better than to ask._ _

__**7.** _ _

__Freshman year comes in fitful bursts of equal parts wonder and anticipation, and ends with a final bout of afternoon practice before the third years sign off. Kei has never been of the emotional sort, but the realization that this might be the last time they're allowed to play as a team, the bittersweet notion of bidding their third years goodbye—it knocks the breath out of him._ _

__Family, Kei thinks, is what it means to be part of Karasuno, the thought of individual raw talent and indistinguishable differences pushed aside for this unshakable feeling of togetherness. This, Kei thinks, is what Akiteru's always tried to tell him volleyball was about: endless, unwitting devotion to the sport that took everything from them and then gave it all back, because the truth is Kei had never fallen out of touch with volleyball; it's still the same thrill he felt the first time he sent the ball flying past Akiteru when they were kids. Only: he's grown to love it the same way his brother did._ _

__For years, Kei had been contented with his own brand of silence, but Karasuno is the type of team that inspires hope in people when they least expect it. He's part of a team with a brimming sort of legacy on their shoulders now, but they’re no less stronger individually. The scuffs on his shoes, his taped-up fingers—they're part of the legacy too, in some ways. There are sure to be cuts on Yamaguchi's palms, bruises on Hinata's arms, the undeniable proof of their devotion—and they are sure to match his own. Next year, Kei thinks, next year they will be better, surer of themselves. Next year, he will not be left behind, but in the meantime, he is laying down the groundwork for his improvement. No reinventing. Only discovery. Only growing into his own skin._ _

__So when Daichi has them line up one last time and asks Ennoshita about what his plans are for the team next year and prompts everyone else to give ideas about what they mean to become, Kei knows what to answer before he's even asked._ _

__"Better," Kei says. From where they’re sitting beside him, Kageyama tilts his head to smile at him over Hinata's head with that subtle uptick at the corner of his mouth, and says:_ _

__"That sounds like something you'd say," and despite the fondness in his voice, there is a clear challenge there too, a defiant sort of push that demands an answer. And so, even with the rapid stuttering his heart has taken on and the sudden warmth spreading throughout his chest, of course: Kei does not shiver, he does not even flinch._ _

__Lesser men have come undone for smaller things._ _

**Author's Note:**

> this is horribly self-indulgent and set in a kinda ambiguous place. i honestly can't tell if did or did not end up taking a few liberties and ended up disregarding some canon along the way. oops


End file.
